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I took my first cup ever on this morning. Being a Mormon, I had never even tasted coffee, let alone drunk a whole cupful. How could that matter now?
Was there no diversity in Hell? What did this endless repetition of sameness and of uniformity in people and surroundings mean?
One man, a newcomer I did not recognize, said, “There’s only one thing that explains it – the rest of you aren’t real – mere creations like the books. My soul is probably in a vat somewhere being pumped full of sensations. You, you, and you,” he said, pointing at three of us, “are nothing more than input signals to a single consciousness swimming in a God-created void.”
No meaning – that was the monster that drove us away from one another in the end. Always.
We’re all white, equal ciphers, instances of the same absurdity repeated over and over.
Finite does not mean much if you can’t tell any practical difference between it and infinite.
